


With extra marshmallows

by stagemanager



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Cold Weather, Eventual Fluff, Gen, High School, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-11 09:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19926193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stagemanager/pseuds/stagemanager
Summary: Spiders are ectotherms, which means that they can’t generate their own body heat. Peter knows this fact particularly well.





	With extra marshmallows

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Out of the Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525114) by [Wicked42 - Spider-Man (Wicked42)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked42/pseuds/Wicked42%20-%20Spider-Man). 



Like many children, Peter used to love snow days. The idea of _not_ having to go to school, getting to play outside and make snow angels and go sledding, it’s every six-year-old’s fantasy. Aunt May would make the best hot chocolate, always with extra marshmallows, and Uncle Ben would take him to the best hill in Queens. And then little Peter would race up the hill with the toboggan, tripping and nearly falling, as Ben would laugh and take his hand. And soon they’d be at the top and he would sit on the sled and they would be nowhere else to go but down _, down,_ to May and her smiling face, Ben cheering behind him.

It’s been a long time since Peter’s looked forward to a snow day. Not since… _Anyways._

Nowadays, he finds that he prefers being indoors during the cold weather. As it turns out, having enhanced senses—and an additional sixth one that works like maybe half of the time—means that temperatures closer to the freezing point tend to make him… _uncomfortable_. I mean, _yeah_ , like other people get cold, but Peter feels the cold much more intensely. It takes tremendous effort for him to go outside in the wintertime, and when he finally does, he’s wrapped up like a burrito and focused entirely on _where is the nearest heater or fireplace?_ The worst part about all this is that the weather even affects his powers. His healing factor never seems to work at one-percent during the winter. And those enhanced senses, the literal reason why he’s like this? Yup, they go on Christmas vacation too.

Spider-Man can lift cars, zip around New York, and climb up walls. It figures that with all his other powers, he’d get a spider’s aversion to the cold. 

At least the suit comes with its own heater. Otherwise swinging around the city would be _unbearable_.

* * *

For some inexplicable reason, the schools are still open in these frigid temperatures. Peter’s pretty sure that there’s a law or something against this. School buses can’t possibly run if the wind’s this high right?

As usual, Ned scrutinizes him with a confused expression. “Dude, are you like moving to Russia or something? How many layers do you have on?”

Peter simply sheds his outermost coat and unwinds the scarf from his neck. Immediately, a chill begins to settle on his skin, but he steels himself and removes his gloves. “Ned, it’s _cold_ outside.”

“Not _that_ cold. It’s warmer today than it was yesterday.” 

The enhanced teen responds with a sigh and the clang of a closing locker.

Thankfully, the rest of the school day goes by without too much trouble. Flash throws out his usual taunts and insults, and Peter endures them all wordlessly. Lunch passes by, then one more class, and finally it’s time for dismissal. Peter collects his belongings, bundles up again, and moves to exit with the normal herd. Ned has already gone home, mentioning something about his mom not wanted him out in the cold. _Lucky him_. Oh well, maybe he can crash in the lab and finish up that batch of web fluid he was working on earlier.

“What up dork,” A voice suddenly calls out. Peter stops and whips around towards the source of the noise.

“MJ! _Hi._ ” The enhanced teenager greets. “Wh-What’s up?” _Ooh_ , that was _not_ smooth.

“Nothing much.” MJ replies flatly. Her eyes casually pass over the boy before darting off to the side. “Wanna…” she begins, returning her gaze back to the shorter teen. “Wanna get some hot chocolate or something? I know a good place not too far from here.”

Peter doesn’t respond immediately, blinking and trying to process this. MJ takes his silence as a refusal.

“Alright, whatever,” she states, adjusting her bag. Her expression is neutral. “Sorry I bothered asking.” MJ comments, before turning to leave. And then Peter’s common sense finally kicks in.

“Wait!” He exclaims, reaching for his departing classmate. Instantly, scarlet colors his face and he drops MJ’s hand. “Uh, it sounds great. Let’s _uh_ , go.” _Please say yes, please say yes…_

A beat. Then MJ smirks at him. “Sure, loser.”

* * *

Somehow, it seems to be even _colder_ now than it was earlier. Still, the thought of going inside, of cancelling this, is dismissed what he realizes that he’s _hanging out with MJ right now._ _Alone._ Is this a date? This can’t be a date, I mean this is probably just like a friend thing or whatever right? ‘Cause that would mean that she likes him back and oh my god that would be amazing.

“Are you okay there? You’re like bright red.” _Red...?_

The suit! Is he wearing the suit? Wait, no, he didn’t put it on this morning. Then why is she saying—

“Oh!” Peter blurts out. No, no, no, play it off, quick. “It’s cold. _I’m_ cold.” _Great_ work there, Parker. Now she probably thinks you’re weird and won’t wanna hang out with you anymore. “ _I_ get cold more easily than others,” he adds, trying to salvage the remains of this conversation. _Ugh_ , why is he like this?

MJ simply gazes out across at the city, her footsteps crunching in the snow. “Nice scarf,” she comments in an objective tone, after a beat. 

The enhanced teen nearly lets out an audible sigh. “Thanks.” 

“Cashmere really suits you.”

“Thanks.”

“Why are you saying thanks again?”

The cold-induced redness on Peter’s face hides his blush of embarrassment. “Sorry,” he answers hastily. MJ stares at him, before rolling her eyes.

“You’re such a loser,” she says. But Peter recognizes the lack of depth in the insult. He smiles.

“Y-Yeah.” And you’re so smart and funny and beautiful and _amazing._

The two high schoolers continue their journey in a comfortable silence. A gust of wind suddenly rushes by, making Peter shiver. Stupid spiders and their dumb ectothermy. 

MJ’s trademark smirk crosses her features. “We’re here, dork.” She announces, opening the door. 

At once, the sweet, cozy aroma of chocolate and the crisp, energetic scent of coffee flood Peter’s senses. The juxtaposition of the two intense smells makes him crinkle his nose. C’mon, _seriously?_

Luckily for the enhanced teen, the line is fairly short and they manage to get their correct orders. Even though the drink is still piping hot, Peter is so cold that he immediately takes a sip. And _wow_. MJ was right about the hot chocolate. It’s delicious.

The two teenagers remain inside the little café for a couple minutes, drinking their beverages and studying the snow-covered city. Having finished his drink quickly, Peter finds himself staring at MJ, awkwardly trying to pretend like he _didn’t_ just down his hot chocolate in five seconds. Several times, he tries to say something, break the silence, and listen to something other than jazz music. But the superhero who fought a giant metal vulture and Captain freaking America can’t find the nerve to speak. And the window of opportunity closes, and MJ says that she’s heading home.

“Thanks for coming, dork.” The girl announces, moving her chair back and stepping towards the door. 

Peter immediately bolts to his feet. “Y-You’re uh, leaving now?” He asks, pushing his seat in with a little _too much_ force and speed. Oh, uh, um, follow MJ. “Isn’t it really cold outside? I mean, I could walk you—”

“I’m a strong, independent woman,” She replies swiftly. “I can get home just fine.” 

The high school hero blinks. “Yeah, uh, okay. See you on Monday?” 

“Sure,” The trademark smirk crosses MJ’s face briefly, before her indifferent expression slips into place. “Later, loser.” She adds, exiting out the door.

Peter stares at the glass entrance, watching the girl leave. A second later, he opens the door. At once, his body and senses protest against the journey back into the snow, the winter’s icy fingers trailing along his arms. 

_Focus_ , Peter. It’s not that cold. 

But it’s so _nice_ here. And MJ said she’ll be fine. 

So the spectacular Spider-Man is going to be defeated by a little cold? I guess New York better learn to stop criminals itself during the winter then.

I… Ugh, _fine_.

* * *

Like most New Yorkers, MJ walks fast. But Peter’s chased speeding cars and flying supervillains, so he catches up quickly. Honestly, the hardest part here is _not_ drawing too much attention to himself—which in hindsight isn’t really a big deal, it’s _New York_ —and enduring the winter wind that is picking up. And snow and ice too, that’s a challenge. ‘Cause see while he can stick to any surface, this power tends to work better when he’s not wearing ten layers of clothing.

So when Peter slips as he’s trailing MJ, it’s not really a surprise. Lucky for him, metropolitan apathy is as strong as ever. Nobody seems to really pay him any mind. When he gets back up, MJ has already descended into the subway station. 

Okay, she’s inside. We can go home now, right?

No.

Oh, c’mon! She’s totally gonna see me! 

So take the Spidey Express.

Wha-? _Seriously?_ In _this_ weather?

Fine. So just follow her like a normal stalker. 

_Shut up._

In the end, Peter ends up riding in the car next to MJ’s. The ride is a standard New York commute, and despite his worst fears, MJ exits the subway. Peter trails her up to the street level, before the ramifications of what he’s doing—he’s literally _stalking someone_ , _this is not okay_ —finally kick in. At once, his face turns ever more crimson—is that even possible at this point?—and he does a complete one-eighty. _O-Kay_ , time to go home now. The enhanced teenager heads back down into the station, and swipes his MetroCard. And then the patented Parker luck decides that Peter’s day could be a little worse.

His card doesn’t have enough money for a trip back to Queens. And he didn’t bring any cash today.

Oh, _fantastic_.

Spidey Express time?

I hate you, inner voice.

* * *

Changing into the suit in below freezing temperatures is _fun_ , to say the least. Actually, it’s really terrible but he’s a teenager and sarcasm is like his default language at this point. Regardless, Spider-Man comes swinging out of the alley, his suit’s heater cranked up to eleven. His backpack is stuffed to the brim with extra clothes, Peter barely able to zip the thing closed. In fact, the school-age superhero is forced to wear one of his jacket along with his Spidey suit: there’s isn’t any more space in the bag to put it. Hopefully nobody will question Spider-Man wearing a few more accessories today.

The winter wind is picking up again, and so Peter’s forced to be a bit more methodical with his usually speedy swinging. Thankfully, his senses still work enough to ensure that he doesn’t accidentally web onto a slippery surface or just flat out miss, falling to what will certainly be a messy death. Peter’s nearly out of the evening cold now, almost out of the ice and snow. He’s dreaming of his cocoon of warm, soft blankets and May’s hot chocolate when there’s a prickling sensation across his skin and _something_ feels _off_. What?

A split second later, his web shooters run out of fluid. And then the normal laws of physics take over.

As Peter finds himself plummeting towards the East River, he decides that he should have just skipped school today. And then the freezing cold water covers him, his soaked jacket and backpack dragging him down, and Peter’s mind instantly transitions to a state of _oh shit_.

* * *

When May Parker gets home to a quiet New York apartment, she thinks nothing of it. Since discovering that her nephew is battling crime dressed as a spider-themed superhero, she’s come to accept the oddities in her life. Like Peter not being at home after school, hours after dismissal. Or the fact that she sometimes walks into his room and finds him upside-down on the ceiling, chemistry textbook in one hand and a cellphone in the other.

Just your average day at the Parker household.

Checking her phone, May sees that Peter has sent her a text around dismissal time, keeping with his promise to update her on his general whereabouts and conduct. Today’s message after school message isn’t the usual ‘Going on patrol, love you’ or ‘Decathlon practice’, instead it’s ‘Hanging out with mj. Be home for dinner’. MJ? She’s the team captain right? Why is Peter… _Oh._

Realizing the ramifications of her nephew’s actions, a smile appears on May’s face. The thought of Peter’s hasty responses—of course, you’re _just friends_ honey—makes her laugh as she does some housework and begins cooking dinner. Maybe she’ll make some soup and hot chocolate for her mischievous little boy.

In between doing chores, May checks for any updates on the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Aside from some dumb spam emails, there are no texts from Peter. Maybe he caught in traffic or something. The weather’s bad. Or maybe he forgot to text her.

For almost half an hour, May continues with her work as if nothing is wrong. That her underage nephew not being home hours after dark isn’t a big deal, and that she really doesn’t know where he is. What he’s doing. It finally hits her around six o’clock—nearly dinner time, _‘Be home for dinner’_ —that she remembers that _Peter’s with a girl on a Friday night_. Immediately her thoughts come to an abrupt halt. A beat passes, and her mind instantly accelerates from zero to sixty.

She prays that she’s just overreacting. That Peter just doing a quick patrol and he’ll be home soon. Except he hasn’t been out for patrol this late since it started snowing, and he’s with MJ, the girl he likes. _Oh god, please don’t let them be doing what I think they’re doing, we raised him okay but what if? They’re underage and oh my god._ Parental fear kicking in, May seizes her phone and dials Peter’s number. When she is quickly greeted by Peter’s voicemail, a weight drops into her stomach. No, no, no, no. 

Panicking, May searches for Happy’s number in her contacts. There’s a tracker on the suit, he always brings it with him, we can find him. But before she can hit the call button, she hears the telltale click of a window latch. A second later, she hears a loud crash, a lone expletive accompanying the noise.

She’s running before she even realizes it.

Throwing open the door to his room, she finds Peter on the ground. The contents of his backpack are spilled out on the floor, pencils and books scattered. Peter is attempting to clean up the mess, but his hands are shaking.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, you have a lot of explaining to do.” May exclaims, her tone firm and ready to discipline. Yet her nephew does not look at her, continuing to hastily collect his belongings. “ _Look_ at me when I’m talking to you, young man.” She commands. At the second lack of reaction, the aunt kneels down, reaching for the boy’s shoulder.

Almost immediately, May gasps, jerking her hand back. The teen feels like ice, his clothes damp and frigid.

The brief contact seems to break through whatever haze is clouding Peter’s senses. He swivels towards his aunt, his expression shocked. The unobstructed view of his face allows May to see the violet circling his eyes and the scarlet on his cheeks. Why are you so cold, what happened to you?

“H-Hi May,” Peter whispers, his voice slurred and teeth chattering. And then because it’s _Peter, of course_ , he adds: “How are you?”

If she wasn’t so terrified that he’d shatter, she would slap him. 

“Peter, _where have you been?_ Are you hurt? You said you were with MJ and then you didn’t come home for dinner and I thought something must have happened.”

For one endless moment, the enhanced teen doesn’t respond, staring at his aunt with _something_ in his eyes. While she waits for Peter to respond, May takes the opportunity to check over the boy. His hands—which she assumed were shaking with nervousness—are actually shivering with cold, frostbite coloring his fingers. And suddenly the crash makes terrible, awful _sense_. 

She’s seen this before.

Rising to her feet, May begins digging around in Peter’s dresser. Another load of laundry is in order—he’s running out of sweaters again—but she fishes out a thick hoodie and sweatpants. She grabs a pair of boxers as well.

“Get changed,” she instructs gently, handing her nephew the clothes. The teen stares at her again, and May feels panic playing up in her mind again. “Do you need help?”

That question is what finally gets Peter to respond. “No,” he squeaks, before snatching the clothing. He can feel embarrassment, this is a good thing. The teen heads towards the bathroom on unsteady feet, his socks leaving droplets of water on the floor. May bites her tongue and goes to the kitchen to prepare some food.

Peter emerges a few minutes later, looking much better in warm, dry clothes. His hood is up and he’s wrapped himself in one of their fleece blankets. May directs him towards the couch, and hands him a bowl of soup and a mug of hot chocolate. Wordlessly, she takes a seat by the teen, her hand drawing circles on his back. 

Quiet descends upon the room, the only sounds being the clink of Peter’s spoon and his quiet slurping. Halfway through the soup, the enhanced teen’s eyelids begin to flutter, exhaustion finally rearing its head. May arranges the pillows and cushions on the couch, and guides him into a more comfortable position. Peter begins to protest, claiming that he has to check on his things, but May smiles and tells him to get some rest. New York will still be standing when you wake up.

When the teen finally falls asleep, she collects his dishes and silverware and washes them in the kitchen. Then she slips into the bathroom. Peter’s clothes are in the hamper, the moisture soaking into the other clothing in the container. The aunt frowns before returning the dirty clothes. There isn’t any blood on them _but still_.

May has always tried to be respectful of Peter’s privacy, always knocking on his door instead of barging in. It’s probably why he left the door open that one time, allowing her to discover his _other_ extracurricular activities. But since that discovery, she’s been less willing to accept closed doors. 

There are so many things that could go _wrong_ , so many times that she’s sat awake in the middle of the night wondering if this is the night she loses him too. When she hears the sound of a window click, she allows herself to breathe again.

Her nephew’s backpack is wet as well. The contents of the bag are likewise damp, papers wrinkled and ink bleeding. How did this all get wet?

Confusion setting in, May digs around in the backpack some more. The sensation of something _not wet_ in the midst of this soaked bag comes as a shock. She fishes out whatever it is that is impossibly dry. 

Really, she shouldn’t be surprised when she’s met with the red and blue spandex of Peter’s suit. She understands why he does it and she even supports him, but Spider-Man definitely made their lives much more complicated. 

Something suddenly drops out of the multicolored fabric, landing on the floor with a dull thud. Putting the suit aside, May sees that the fallen objects are Peter’s phone and wallet. Picking them up, she quickly discovers that these objects are somehow dry as well despite sitting in a wet backpack. This shouldn’t be possible and yet May finds this is at the bottom of her weird list.

She could call Happy and ask him where Peter has been. She should call him, every part of her is screaming to do it. But somewhere in the chaos, the little voice that begs her to trust in her nephew, to have hope, tells her that it would be better to hear it from the boy himself.

* * *

Peter stumbles back into the waking world. It takes a moment for his mind to start working, and then he bolts upright, eyes wide and blanket thrown aside.

A familiar voice calls out to him. “Relax,” it says. There are footsteps and Peter sees the speaker. His heartbeat calms.

“Aunt May?” The teen asks, staring at the woman. He surveys the room, finally realizing where he is. 

His aunt sits down by him on the couch, donning a friendly expression. “How are you feeling, honey?”

Peter blinks, shifting in his seat. “Better?” He begins hesitantly. He studies his bare wrists before looking back up. “What happened last night?”

May’s expression shifts, concern appearing on her face. “I was planning to ask you the same thing.”

At her statement, Peter stills. His eyes dart down again, and he fidgets with his hands. Seeing the tension in his body, May places a hand on his shoulder. “Peter?”

“I was going to stay after school to work on some web fluid but then MJ asked me if I wanted to get hot chocolate at this place she likes. And I said yes ‘cause it’s _MJ_ and she’s really cool. So we walked there and the hot chocolate was really good and we talked for a while but then MJ had to leave. But she said she was a strong, independent woman and she didn’t need help but my inner voice was being weird and I was worried and so I followed her. And then she took the subway and I thought that was the end of it but I was still worried so I took the subway too but not like the same car ‘cause that would be kind of stalker-ish. But it still stalker-ish was so when MJ got off the subway and I followed her, I was like _oh shit I am a stalker_ so I turned around—”

The words are tumbling out of Peter’s mouth, the dam finally breaking. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, May’s looking at him weird, why is she looking at him like that, _it’s cold, I can’t._

“But my MetroCard was out of money and I didn’t have any cash and I had to swing home but then I ran out of web fluid on the bridge and I fell into the East River—” 

“ _You fell into the East River!?_ ” A voice suddenly shouts. The noise—too loud, _too loud_ —makes Peter freeze. He blinks, his eyes blurry with moisture and the pounding of his heartbeat deafening in his ears. When did… ?

Someone is reaching towards him, trying to hold him in place. Instantly, every fiber of his being ignites into action, a stretched band about to bounce. Threat, threat, _react, REACT._

“Honey?” 

_Move, MOVE, run away, run away!_

“ _Peter!_ ” 

The sound of his name makes the enhanced teen pause. How do you know my name, _no, no, no, NO…_

“ _Shhh…_ “ A woman whispers. “It’s _okay_. You’re safe at home with me.” 

The soft, comforting cadence guides him back into clarity, saturation and volume dialing back to a more manageable level. His head hurts, senses overstimulated.

“That’s it. Breathe in and out. Slowly. Look around, Peter. What do you see?”

Slowly, Peter raises his gaze. He draws in a breath, long and heavy.

“I see… the living room. In our apartment.”

“What’s in the living room?”

“Um… There’s a table here, and a couch.” The teen lowers a hand, fingers ghosting across fabric. “The couch feels soft. And there are two pillows here too, they’re squishy. Um… There’s a blue blanket, it’s soft too. Sorry that it’s on the floor.”

The voice smiles. “It’s okay. What else is there? Can you hear or smell anything?”

A beat. Peter shifts on the couch. “I can hear you talking. And someone’s listening to music upstairs.” The boy sucks in another breath. “It smells like hot chocolate,” he adds. His eyes widen, as if seeing something for the first time. “Aunt May?” He breathes out before rushing in for a hug. The older woman laughs a little breathlessly.

“I’m here, honey. I’ve got you.”

The two family members sit in silence, simply holding onto each other. Two ships lost in a storm and clinging to their anchors. Peter nestles into his aunt’s arms, soaking up as much warmth as he can.

“Is this the first time this has happened?” May quietly asks, ending the silence as gently as possible. Her grip loosens, and Peter breaks away slightly. His expression is cautious.

“The falling into the river or the getting really cold?” He responds a moment later.

“Both.”

_Oh._

“Um… I’ve fallen into the river before, but never during the winter. So that’s a first.” The high schooler pauses, studying his aunt’s face. Upon seeing her expectant expression, he drops his gaze and stares at his suddenly interesting wrists. He snatches the discarded blanket.

“And the cold?” May presses, gentle but still clearly desiring an answer. The teenager in question fidgets under her gaze, a reactor of nervous energy rapidly beginning to overheat. He wills his fingers not to stick to the blanket.

“You’re just overreacting, I mean, it’s not that big a deal, everyone gets cold. I just get cold more than others. Yeah, that’s it.”

“Peter, you wore six layers of clothing today.”

“No, I didn’t!” The high schooler retorts, before quietly adding, “I only had five on...”.

May shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. That’s still overkill for this weather.”

Peter sputters, at a loss of what to say. “ _S’not overkill if you can’t thermoregulate,_ ” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” His aunt questions, a critical look on her face. At her nephew’s assertion of silence, the woman sighs. “Peter, I’m just trying to help you. You used to love going outside in the winter, and now all of the sudden, you can’t stand the cold. I don’t understand why that…”. May trails off, her eyes suddenly brightening. Confusion quickly shifts to realization.

Peter makes an almost imperceptible movement away from his aunt. His eyes are wide, the canvas of his mind utterly blank. _What to say, what to say, steer the conversation away, I don’t know what to say—_

“This is because of your powers, isn’t it?” May finishes, an understanding and sympathetic expression on her face.

At her words, Peter sighs. He can’t do this, he’s tired. “Yeah,” the teenager admits, voice weary. “Spiders are ectothermic. Or I guess ‘cold-blooded’, you probably know that term better. Which means they can’t stay warm unless they’re near something hot. So in the winter they usually hide in like cracks in trees and stuff where it’s warm.” 

“So are you cold-blooded too?”

“No, no, no,” Peter instantly dismisses. “I just… have a harder time in the cold.” His eyes dart down. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? This isn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, but it’s my weird biology that’s doing this. I mean, we’ve had to do extra laundry ‘cause I keep wearing the extra layers and the bills have gone up ‘cause I keep turning the heater up and using the hot water and I’m making you worry now ‘cause now you know that I get _cold and I’m such a bur—”_

“Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence, young man.” May interjects. The rare weight of her tone makes Peter freeze. Slowly, he meets her gaze. His aunt’s expression is solemn, and yet the teen can see the moisture in her eyes. “You… You have made me worry so much. There have been so many times that I’ve haven’t been able to sleep, wondering _what if?_ I feel like I’ve aged in years instead of months.” 

May suddenly grabs Peter’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “But when I hear stories of how Spider-Man has saved someone’s life, made my world a little safer, I can’t feel anything else but _proud_ . Because that isn’t some superhero up on the screen, it’s my _Peter_. My little boy who loves sledding and science puns and hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. And that makes all the sleepless nights worth it.” 

The tears are flowing down May’s face now, but she forges on undeterred. Peter’s vision is blurring too. “No matter what happens, whatever weird shit the universe throws at us, _you never have,_ and _never will be,_ a _burden,_ do you hear me? _Never. I am so proud of you.”_

For several moments, Peter does not speak. He doesn’t know what to say. What do you say, when there are a million thoughts in your head and no words in your mouth? When you’re happy and sad and grateful and angry all at the same time? 

When you’re a _superhero who risks his life everyday_ and a _kid who doesn’t want to die_?

He doesn’t know. But maybe, _maybe_ , that’s okay. It’s okay not to be okay.

“ _Okay,”_ Peter finally says, sounding so very small. Young. “Thank you.”

His aunt beams, joy shining through her tears. “You’re welcome.”

A fragile smile _—we’re hanging by a thin thread of silk, but it’s stronger than you think—_ appears on Peter’s face. It’s tempting fate to even consider this thought, but he wants to be a person who can dream and imagine the impossible. Like a world where children can be children, even just for a little while. Where the winter is just a season, and the snow is just snow.

As the teenager ponders all these things in his mind, a single thought comes to him. And for the first time in forever, sitting in the living room and crying with his aunt, Peter feels truly _, genuinely warm_.

“Can I have another cup of hot chocolate please?” A little boy asks. His mother grins, as bright as the summer sun.

“Of course, honey.”

**Author's Note:**

> Still not over Endgame and Far From Home. So here’s a quick one-shot where I pretend they don’t exist. As for where Tony is in this story, I wanted to write something that was May and Peter centric. I feel like there aren’t enough of those. Don’t get me wrong, I love Irondad and Spiderson. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Shout-out to my beta readers!
> 
> Random thing but I posted this on a Wednesday. The vine lives on!


End file.
